Kalliope thought about death often in her earlier years. After her father’s demise, then her uncle by her own hands, and then the steady stream of assassins that kept coming after her.
She dreamt about it often. Not in the sense that she would welcome death. But as disturbing as it sounded, Kalliope wanted to be prepared. She never wanted to go out desperate in the face of death.
She didn’t expect to go out like this, though. But she figured it would take a small troop to take her down.
The darkness of her unconsciousness is unstable. It was like sailing on disturbed water, with up down sideways motions that made her a bit queasy. There was no pain thankfully, but there was a growing discomfort deep within her, as Kalliope drifted along the unseen current.
There was something deeply
